


Eddie Kaspbrak Plays a Dangerous Game

by missbenzedrine



Series: catch ya later trashmouth [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Gay Richie Tozier, I guess infidelity?, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, M/M, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, but I wrote it anyway, glutton for angst, is this necessary?, probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbenzedrine/pseuds/missbenzedrine
Summary: ...and all of a sudden it was twenty years ago, and he was back. Back to that day on the clubhouse floor, when Richie had kissed him. And he’d kissed back. He couldn’t deny that. Because it was Richie and he trusted Richie despite his better judgment and for just a split second, his head was clear enough for it to make sense. And then Richie had said it, those four words that he couldn’t take back:I love you, Eddie. And Eddie wished he could just shove them right back into his big ol’ Trashmouth.





	Eddie Kaspbrak Plays a Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, as promised, this is Eddie's POV from the other piece that I did [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116627). probably best to read that one first, because some of this won't make sense without it 
> 
> tbh, I only wrote this because I was having a lot of trouble getting into Eddie's headspace for his reactions in the original (I find Richie easier to write personally), but I ended up getting really into it, and I might even like this better? I really liked getting into Eddie's stuff. it was fun :D so I hope you like it too 
> 
> the first scene is a bit of a call back to Eddie's introduction scene in King's book. obviously much better written in the original lol, but I just wanted to do a scene like that, since I did one for Richie's POV
> 
> unfortunately, the problem with writing something like this is that a lot of the dialogue is repetitive from the other version. that's the only thing that's not original though, the rest is all new, and I wouldn't post it if I didn't think it added something to the story! I did skip a little bit in the middle, because it just felt unnecessary to do every little bit from Eddie's POV when the original can technically stand on its own 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

_It's not true_  
_ Tell me I've been lied to_  
_ Crying isn't like you_  
_ What the hell did I do?_  
_ Never been the type to_  
_ Let someone see right through_

_Maybe won't you take it back_  
_ Say you were tryna make me laugh_  
_ And nothing has to change today_  
_ You didn't mean to say 'I love you'_  
_ I love you and I don't want to_

_-_Billie Eilish, 'i love you'

* * *

“But _Eddie!” _Myra’s voice was shrill and desperate from downstairs as he ran around the bedroom, shoving things into his overnight bags. “Eddie, you were just in a _car accident. _You need to go to the hospital. What if you ruptured something?”

“I’m fine, Myra!” he called, going into the bathroom and yanking open the medicine cabinet. His eyes flitted over the pill bottles there, lips mindlessly mouthing the names. He pulled out the ones he knew he needed (various anxiety medications, his anti-depressants, cholesterol medication, pain relief etc.), plus the Xanax, Tums, and Ambien, and shoved them into a toiletry bag. Then he packed a separate toiletry bag for his toothbrush, face wash, mouth wash, shaving skit, shampoo, body wash, nail scissors, floss, anti-bacterial hand soap (the hotels never had the right stuff), deodorant, tweezers, toothpicks, extra band-aids. He had an entirely separate bag for first-aid supplies. But that was always pre-packed and already in his overnight bag. He looked at the two overflowing toiletry bags and quickly shoved the zipper closed.

“But _where _are you going, Eddie?” Myra’s voice came from downstairs, brimming with fear. Eddie had to wonder what exactly she was scared of, though.

“I told you. I’m going to Maine, my hometown for a few days.” He shoved the toiletry bags into his overnight bags, and proceeded to close them, stopping for a second to try and remember anything he might have forgotten.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Myra shouted and then she was coming up the stairs.

No. That was definitely not happening. The idea of Myra coming with him, to Derry, made him tense up with anxiety. He wasn’t entirely sure what this was all about, only quick glimpses had occurred to him, as yet. But somehow, he knew that he wouldn’t want Myra there. No. This was something he had to do himself. “Myra, no. You need to stay here,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm, but it was difficult. Being firm with Myra always felt a little bit like—

_Don’t talk back to your mother, Eddie. _

“You can’t come. This doesn’t concern you,” he said.

“But Eddie, what if you get hurt? What if something happens? Who is going to help you? I know how to take care of you. No one else does like I do.” Her voice cut through his thoughts, and spawned a whole new wave of anxiety. Even though he knew she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, she probably wasn’t too far off base. What if something did happen? He’d be so far from home and…fuck. It was too much to think about.

“I’ll be fine,” he got out, shaking his head as he grabbed the bags, shoving past Myra to the stairs.

Besides, there was a part of him, a distant, just barely there hint of a memory, that told him there was another reason he didn’t want Myra there. A _someone. _The memory, even just the inkling of it, caused a sharp pain in his head, and he scrunched up his nose. “I’ll be fine,” he said again, more determined.

* * *

Eddie couldn’t move, standing idle in his hotel room. His body was rigid with fear and stress, and the realization that he’d hopped on a plane to come to Derry on a suicide mission. They were definitely going to die here if they didn’t leave. If there was one thing he was good for, it was assessing the relative possibility of death in a given situation (thanks for that, mom). He’d been in Derry for all of about six hours, and already, he was having an anxiety attack. Yeah, there was a fucking reason he never responded to the high school reunion invites on Facebook.

_So come home, then, Eddie Bear. _

He shoved his hands over his ears, willing the voice to stop. To just shut the _fuck _up for once.

_Run home like the good little boy you are Eddie. Mommy’s waiting. _

He groaned, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Bev was probably right. This shit would eat them from the inside out, starting with what relative sanity they had left and ending with their will to live. And, even if he did run, what would he be running toward?

_Protection. My protection. My love. _

Myra? His doldrum life with his doldrum job and mediocre salary? His miserable fucking existence? No. He couldn’t keep running forever. Eventually, he had to face his demons. And if that had to be here, face-to-face with a demon clown, then so be it.

But then again…

_You’ll hurt yourself. And mommy isn’t there to kiss it better. Don’t be _stupid, _Eddie Bear. _

_Fuck. _

Richie. Richie wasn’t losing his fucking mind, like everyone else seemed to be. He wanted to leave too. Thank god someone else seemed to have their head screwed on straight.

Before Eddie could think twice about it, he was headed for the door, pulling it open and going to Richie’s room down the hall. He knocked on the door.

* * *

“Oh nothing. I just probably could have predicted your future to a T, Rich,” Eddie was saying as they approached the bar in the foyer. Richie had convinced him to stay the night at the hotel, both agreeing that it was probably best to leave in the morning anyway. In a way, he was glad. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on Richie in the Chinese restaurant, he’d had this nagging feeling, like there was some unfinished business there. Or maybe he was just overthinking things. He did tend to do that. Either way, they couldn’t head out that night, so might as well have a drink.

But now, Richie was looking at him like he’d said something wrong. God. Already? How had he already fucked up? Maybe Richie was just touchier than he used to be. Because, he thought, lets be real, didn’t they all think that Richie was going to end up partying his way through life, coasting along on his sense of humor? It made sense. The man’s calling card was a solidly timed dick joke, after all.

“What’ll it be, Eds?”

“I’ll take a martini, if you think you can handle that,” he tried, keeping his tone light.

“Oh, I can handle anything.” Eddie actually shivered at that, watching Richie’s deft motions as he began to make his drink, hands going through the motions swiftly. _There’s a reason people tend to fall for their bartenders. _The thought came unbidden and Eddie shook it off. Jesus fucking Christ. Then Richie was biting out a question, an edge to his voice, “So what you’re saying, is that you always pegged me for an alcoholic bachelor with a penchant for shit comedy? Is that what I’m getting, Eddie?”

Ah, okay. There it was. “No,” he said quickly. “No! Fuck, Rich, when you say it like that…” _it makes it sound like I didn’t think anything of you. _If only he knew how far that was from the truth.

Richie slid his martini across the bar. “So that is what you thought? Because if we’re being honest, you marrying your mother isn’t too far off base from what I thought, either.”

_Ouch. _Eddie wanted to bite back, throw a ‘fuck you,’ his way, or at least manage some kind of comeback, but the truth of the statement, the honesty in it made it hard to even do that. Because Richie was right, wasn’t he? That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though, didn’t hit him like a slap to the face.

_I told you, Eddie bear. He’s not your friend. Stay away. _

“That’s not fair,” he said finally, meeting Richie’s gaze. Some part of him was asking a question. _Can I trust you still? _He needed to know.

And Richie seemed to understand, at least somewhat. “Sorry, Eds, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah. You did. That’s okay,” his voice came out weak, but the words helped. He didn’t know if he could stand it if Richie wasn’t there for him anymore.

Eddie sipped his martini as a heavy silence seemed to fall over them. He couldn’t help but feel like _this _was the test. This moment, and how they came out of it would determine how they moved forward. Were things the same? Were they broken beyond repair?

No. Fuck that. He wouldn’t let it happen. He had to at least try, the best way he knew how to.

“I mean, I did always know that your stand-up would be shit,” he said finally, giving Richie a wary smile.

A weight seemed to lift off of his shoulders as Richie started to laugh, and soon enough he joined in, letting himself laugh, hard, like he used to when he was a kid. God. They’d really had some good laughs back then. It was hard to remember when the last time was.

Richie started to tell him then, about his life as a comedian, traveling around, different cities a lot of nights. It didn’t get past Eddie, the exhaustion in his eyes as he spoke about it. Sure, Richie was funny, but Eddie knew him pretty well. He’d always been able to read Richie pretty well. He wasn’t happy. But then again, who of them was?

Eddie told him briefly about his job and his life, skirting quickly over his description of Myra. Richie knew. They didn’t need to rehash that bit. Richie got the general idea there. And besides, talking about Myra with Richie felt _uncomfortable. _Like something he shouldn’t be doing. Better to play it safe. He’d always been pretty good about playing it on the safe side.

Other than the dancing he did around insensitive topic matter, Eddie found himself feeling extraordinarily at ease with Richie again, after all these years. As they spoke, his mind flashed with memories from their teenage years, things long forgotten. Play fights and movie marathons in Richie’s basement. Staying up all night and talking with four beer cans that they’d managed to steal from Richie’s dad’s stash. Getting caught with the beer because Richie didn’t realize just how protective his father was over his alcohol. Getting grounded because of course Richie’s parents told his mom (_god, Richie, I told you it was a bad idea, asswipe). _Not being able to hang out with Richie, or anyone (_but especially Richie) _for months because of it.

Falling asleep under the old oak tree in Eddie’s backyard, Richie’s arm wrapped around him. Feeling _safe._

“Alright, last drink,” Richie said as their conversation tapered off naturally. “And then we should both try and get some shut eye.”

“Sounds like a plan, St-" Fuck. _Stan. _He kept forgetting Stan. But not really. Because, in his mind’s eye, he could see, clear as day, what the scene would have looked like when Stan’s wife walked into the bathroom. Blood. So much blood. Myra would have had a fucking heart attack.

Richie frowned, clearly reading Eddie’s thoughts. He didn’t really like that he could do that sometimes. Richie could give him this _look _that made him feel like an open book. “It’s okay. We can’t tiptoe around it.”

And then Eddie was speaking, and maybe it was the familiarity he felt with Richie again, or maybe it was just the desire to not hold it in anymore, but he spoke honestly, even if it may not have been wise. “I know, it’s just…there’s this part of me, that feels like it could have just as easily been me. In that bathtub.”

Richie didn’t say anything, for a long time, and Eddie started to fear that he’d fucked up, and Richie thought he was weak. Hell, he _was _weak.

“I think it could have been any of us,” Richie finally responded.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie replied, his words slow, thoughtful. “But like, not really? Bill definitely wouldn’t have. Or Ben. And Bev is tough as nails. Mike wouldn’t have because he was the one holding this whole shitshow together," he listed off. "That leaves us.”

“That leaves us,” Richie echoed.

Eddie hadn’t even really noticed Richie pouring the second round of drinks until there was another martini in front of him.

He was curious, suddenly.

_(curiosity killed the cat) _

“Would _you _have?”

Richie’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, as he appeared to weight the question. “I didn’t. Isn’t that enough?”

_No. _“Sure, maybe on some level. But I don’t know that it is.” As he brought the martini to his lips, he almost choked at the strong taste of gin. Damn. “This one is dryer,” he told him, scrunching up his nose. He didn’t necessarily mind.

“Yeah, maybe it isn’t.”

Eddie felt his heartbeat pick up in his chest, the feeling all too familiar. “I just can’t stop thinking about how…my life doesn’t seem worth going through all this shit, you know? If Stan couldn’t do it, what makes me think that I’ll last? If Bev is right, and this shit is going to eat us up inside…I’ll be the next one to go. No doubt about it.” His fingers itched for that old metal tube, his throat aching for the comfort of a spritz from his inhaler. Because it was all too real, too honest.

Richie shook his head. “No. No way. It’d be me. I’m halfway there most of the time anyway.”

Eddie had to choke back a laugh. God. Richie had no idea just how much he actually meant it. It was always jokes with Richie. That was the problem. “What and you think I’m not?” he managed, the words coming out like daggers on his tongue. He felt like his throat was closing up.

“Eds…”

God he hated that. “Don’t—don’t _Eds _me, Rich. I don’t need your pity, okay?” He tried to take in a deep breath, tried to work himself down like he’d learned to do in high school when he’d given up the inhaler. “I’m just thinking out loud.” He finished off his martini, wanting the alcohol to calm the chaos that was going on inside of him. God. He had anxiety attacks, sure, all the fucking time. But not like this. “I need another one.”

“I thought we were—”

“Jesus Christ, Richie!” He sneered, his fingers curling. “Just get me another fucking drink.” He couldn’t sit anymore, though, his body needing to release the excess energy. “No, you know what, fuck that. I’ll just do a shot.” As he stood, his hand reached automatically for a fanny pack that wasn’t there anymore, hadn’t been for years, fingers flinching at the realization. He walked around the bar, fumbling around until he found two shot glasses. His hand shook as he filled them with vodka, spilling clear liquid on the surface of the bar. He downed first one and then the other, shaking his head at the burn. But the burn was good, it brought him back down to earth.

_I told you, Eddie Bear. I told you you were fragile. _

“You’re not wrong, you know?” he said after the liquor had settled in his stomach, a toxic burn that he couldn’t help but enjoy. “I did marry my fucking mother. Guess I just didn’t get enough of that bullshit when she was alive. Even with Myra, it’s always, ‘Eddie, what’s that rash?’‘Eddie, why didn’t you take all _six _of your pills this morning?’ ‘_Eddie,_be careful on the way to work, you never know when an eighteen wheeler is gonna mow you over and fucking kill you.’ I mean, fuck. Sometimes I wish it just would already.” He gulped, nervously tapping his fingers against the surface of the bar. “You wanna know why I used that goddamn inhaler so long, Rich? Because I’ve been suffocating under that fucking shit my whole life. But you guys never realized that, did you? You never realized just how bad it was, whiling away in that house, with her.”

“I realized, Eds.”

Yeah, okay, nice try, Rich. _Beep beep. _

"Sure. Yeah. But you didn’t get it, Richie. How could you? It was too insane. I mean, having the one person, who’s supposed to love you, be there for you, protect you, be the person who also makes you afraid of everything.” His eyes were welling up with tears, unwelcomed and definitely fucking unwanted. But he didn’t have the energy or the will to hold them back. “It’s fucked, man. And I’ve been through enough therapy now, to know just how fucked it is. And I’m never going to be able to get out of that cycle of self-hatred and fear and—” And there they were, plump tears rolling down his cheeks. Before he could even work himself up to an embarrassed apology for the outburst, he felt Richie’s arms wrap around him and he froze up.

And all of a sudden it was twenty years ago, and he was back. Back to that day on the clubhouse floor, when Richie had kissed him. And he’d kissed back. He couldn’t deny that. Because it was Richie and he trusted Richie despite his better judgment and for just a split second, his head was clear enough for it to make sense. And then Richie had said it, those four words that he couldn’t take back: _I love you, Eddie. _And Eddie wished he could just shove them right back into his big ol’ Trashmouth because...

_He’s lying, Eddie. It’s a joke, a game he wants you to play. I warned you about them, these kids you spend your time with. Their games are dangerous. He could never love you like I do. Protect you like I do. My love is real. He’s just a joker. A Trashmouth. It’s what he does, you know that. _

_Come back home Eddie, before he gets off another good one. _

Beep beep, Richie. His mouth had formed around the words and he’d almost said it. Because this was the worst joke of all. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep fuckin’ beep.

But instead he’d stood up, distanced himself. And ran. Ran home to mommy. And maybe her love wasn’t what it was supposed to be. But it was real, tangible, something that made sense to him. Richie’s love, which it wasn’t, not really, was just a sick, confused joke. Just like everything Richie did.

And now here Richie was again, all these years later. And suddenly he was the only tangible, real thing that seemed to be here in this shithole of a town. The fabric of his shirt under Eddie’s fingertips, the seemingly unwavering affection.

_Be careful, Eddie. _

The voice whispered through his thoughts just like it had so many years before.

_He’s no different than he was then, Eddie Bear. Same old Trashmouth. Same old games. Dangerous Games, Eddie. You know what I said about playing Dangerous Games. _

You always pay the price.

“Hey, stop,” Richie was saying. “I know, Eddie. I know it was hard. Still is.”

He was ready to pay the price though, whatever it may be.

When he pressed his lips against Richie’s, he expected Richie to kiss back, emphatic and constant. Wasn’t that what was supposed to happen when you took the shot in the dark? When you told your inner anxieties to shut the fuck up for just one fucking second. But he didn’t. He pulled away, and the look in his eyes, the questioning, the confusion, it sent Eddie’s nervous system for a fucking ride.

“What are you doing?” Richie’s voice, incredulous, seared through Eddie’s skin like a hot iron poker.

“Isn't this what you want, Rich? Because I'm ready. I'm ready to play along.”

And then Richie was stepping back, and Eddie felt the absence seep into him, chilling him to the bone. And god. He’d fucked up. Fuck. Fuck.

“Play along? Wh--do you think this was some kind of _game_ to me?” Richie was angry, like really angry. His eyes glinted behind his glasses, and Eddie honestly didn’t know if he’d ever seen Richie like this.

“Sorry, fuck, Richie, that’s not—“

“You think I was just gettin' off a good one that day? Just fuckin’ around with you? _Hm, you know what would be fun? __To put my heart out on the line and then watch Eddie stomp on it like a goddamn bug._You think that sounded _fun _to me, Eddie? I meant what I said that day. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t for shits and giggles. I meant it.” Richie looked like he was in pain, reliving something horrible. Something that Eddie had made him live through in the first place. 

“Richie—“

“Nah, fuck it. I can’t do this, okay? Not again. I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Richie disappeared up the stairs before Eddie could even clear his thoughts enough to react. He stood there, behind the bar for far too long, debating with himself, before he cleaned up the mess they’d made at the bar, going into autopilot. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, laying a twenty on the bar before he made his way up to his bedroom.

Years of yoga and meditation had taught him to be able to shut his brain up for short periods of time, and so he did, going through his typical nightly routine: changing into his pajamas, brushing his teeth, flossing, taking his three nighttime pills, and his skin care routine. Check, check, check. He examined his face in the mirror for any new marks or moles or whatever, like he normally did, and let out an irritated sigh.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hands gripping the sink, knuckles turning white as he shook his head.

Finally, he forced himself to climb into bed, turning out the lamp on his bedside table and closing his eyes. But as soon as he did, he was bombarded with images. The leper at Neibolt. Bev’s white eyes when she was caught in the deadlights. Pennywise gripping his face. Laughing, laughing, _laughing. _

And then Richie, there, helping him. God. He was always there, wasn’t he? Always protecting him. Always holding him when he needed it most. 

_He did love you, idiot. _

It wasn’t that voice- the haunting one. It was his own. And boy oh boy was it right.

He was out of bed before he could even fully process the realization, going down the hall. He stood in front of Richie’s door. His energy dissipated though, faced with the reality of what he was doing, what he had come here for.

But Richie loved him. Or, at least, he had then. And Richie’s love, it was a real love, a sweet, honest kind. He just hadn’t seen it, because it wasn’t what he’d been convinced passed for love his whole fucking life. So it scared the living shit out of him.

But honestly, fuck all of that now.

He was so tired of being afraid.

He lifted his hand, and knocked.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading :) I would love to hear your thoughts! comments are always appreciated


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